The Mansion Incident
by half-brain
Summary: (Making my own, slightly modified version of the game that started it all) The elite police task force STARS has been chomping at the bit to get their hands on their first murder case, a series of cannibalistic killings in the nearby Arklay mountains. But when the Chief of Police finally assigns them to the task force, it may turn out to be much more than they bargained for.


AN: Decided my other stuff was going nowhere for the time being, so I'm posting a story I've been working on for awhile. Let me pre-apologize for late updates, etc. I'll try and actually finish this one in a reasonable amount of time, but we'll see. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy the first chapter.

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The hot, afternoon sun beat down on the Raccoon Police Department parking lot, causing heat to rise from the blacktop in shimmering waves. Jill Valentine squinted and pushed a strand of brown hair out of her face as she stepped out of her beat-up hatchback, wishing for fall to come. Summers in Raccoon City, she had found, were a lot like summers in her hometown of Chicago – unbearably warm and muggy. Jill hurried toward the shelter of the RPD's air-conditioned interior. A dark blue Mustang rumbled into the lot as she reached the door. It was Chris Redfield, her partner on RPD Special Tactics and Rescue Service, or STARS.

Chris killed the engine, simultaneously cutting off John Fogerty's dry voice on the radio. Jill waited for him at the entry, and he strode towards her with a thoughtful scowl.

"What's up? You're making the same face as when you get bested at poker."

He shook his head. "Nothing. Well, nothing I can seem to place. Something just seems off about this case."

She assumed he was speaking about the Victory Lake District case. The cannibal murders. Over the past couple months, a string of grisly murders, animal attacks, and disappearances had struck the northern part of Raccoon and the surrounding foothills of the Arklay Mountains. People disappearing in a forest was not unheard of, nor were increased animal attacks in growing urban sprawls, but two things stuck out. First, the sudden frequency and apparent viciousness of the attacks. Second – and far more alarming – was that in all six murder cases the victims were eaten; and as the "cannibal" nickname would suggest, the bite patterns were unquestionably human. STARS had joined Homicide a little less than two weeks ago in an attempt by police chief Irons to speed up the resolution of the case. So far they had made little headway.

"What isn't off about this case, Chris? I mean, cannibals? Strange creatures coming out at night to feed on human flesh? Sounds like some low-budget thriller."

"Cannibals aren't as uncommon as you might think," he replied, his tone of voice indicating he was trying to deflect her argument. He obviously didn't want to elaborate, which she found odd. "I've just got a bad feeling."

She decided not to press the issue.

They made their way through the extravagant building's narrow, impractical hallways to the STARS office on the second floor, shortcutting through the evidence room. Sergeant Carlsen greeted them as they passed and continued digging through one of the small, metal drawers. The police department had once been an art museum, and before that city hall, and God could only guess what else. Jill suspected maybe it had been a mansion, albeit a very oddly placed one. Raccoon had been a simple, rural town in southern Illinois until the mid-eighties when the Umbrella Corporation had moved in. The huge pharmaceutical conglomerate showed up suddenly, wanting to create a research facility in town. Not only did they set up shop, but Umbrella helped fund a series of major public works projects proposed by then-mayor Michael Warren. Ever since, Raccoon City had continued to grow at a steady rate as Umbrella pulled in more and more workers, expanding the demand for other services. Regardless of the building's history, they managed to make it to the office in less than two minutes.

The door was open, and voices spilled into the quiet hallway. Jill heard Joe Frost, STARS Alpha Team's mechanic, laugh at some unheard joke. Chris went in first. The rest of Alpha sat at their cluttered desks, relaxing while waiting for orders on what to do. Joe had his feet propped up, leaning back in his gray office chair as Brad Vickers, Alpha's pilot and comms guy, absently adjusted a couple knobs on the large radio setup that dominated one corner of the room. Barry was describing- probably for the fourth or fifth time – his hunting trip a couple weekends ago, waving his huge arms around and sending Joe into another fit of mirth. Jill had heard many of his stories, including ones about Chris from back in their Air Force days, but they never seemed to get old. Even Wesker, their usually stoic division leader who sat reading through a precarious stack of reports, couldn't suppress a chuckle.

Bravo Team had been sent out on an initial aerial recon of the lower Arklays just over an hour ago. There was the unfortunate possibility that they may spook the killers into hiding deeper in the forest, but Chief Irons had insisted they not go in blind. Captain Wesker had agreed it was a necessary risk.

"What's the word on Bravo?" Chris asked Brad as he took a seat at his messy desk. Piles of forestry surveys, topographic maps, and half-written reports lay haphazardly scattered across the surface, obscuring a couple pictures from the Air Force and one of him and his sister canoeing.

"Nothing yet. Last check-in was over grid Twenty-Two A fifteen minutes ago. Looked like a campsite. Haven't heard a peep since, although the comms have been a bit unreliable."

Chris nodded before Jill saw the same scowl reappear. He grabbed a can of 7up from one of his desk drawers and popped it open.

Wesker slapped down the report he had presumably just finished. "Everyone ready to get started?" Seeing no objection, he continued. "Has anyone come up with more ideas? I want to be ready for any possibility, no matter how unlikely."

Jill quickly flipped through her folder. "It's not so much a new idea, but I did some more research into cults with similar behavior to our cannibals."

"And?"

"From what I've found, the whole cult angle is growing less and less promising. There's almost always some blatant, deeper pattern or connection between victims in those situations. Unless we're missing it, the only thing these people have in common is that they live in the northern half of the city. Different genders, ages, ethnicities, fields of work, everything. It just doesn't seem to fit."

Barry stroked his short, reddish beard. "Victims of opportunity, maybe?"

"Big maybe, but possible I suppose."

Wesker nodded. "It was a stretch to begin with. Unfortunately we don't have many other theories yet. I just talked to Garrison in homicide and they're still stumped." No one spoke up for a moment. Chris looked like he was going to say something, but stopped. The captain noticed. "Chris, I don't care if your idea sounds ridiculous, ridiculous is all we have right now. Share your thoughts."

"What if…" he tapped the nearly empty pop can, searching for the right words. "What if Umbrella has something to do with this?"

Jill didn't know what she had been expecting Chris to say, but it surely wasn't that. How could Umbrella, the unofficial town benefactors, have anything to do with one of the grisliest murder cases in state history?

"You have a motive?" Wesker asked, looking skeptically at Chris.

"Not exactly. I just think that we should check out every option."

Brad scratched at his ear. "He has a decent point. Even if it isn't Umbrella themselves, maybe we'll turn up something."

"Could even be one of their enemies," Joe offered. "A company doesn't get that big without making a few, and scaring their workers away from one of their biggest research facilities would certainly hurt Umbrella."

"Yeah, but there's a difference between scaring some workers and fourteen overly grotesque murders," reminded Barry. "Sorry guys, but I just don't see any way that could make sense."

Wesker sighed. "Well, I did say _all_ leads, but unfortunately I don't see how we're going to investigate Umbrella without some actual evidence. Especially considering how much of a longshot your theory is."

Chris rummaged through one of his stacks of notes, emerging with a Forest Service map. "Here, from nineteen-eighty-seven. It's no damning evidence by any means, but there is an abandoned estate in the area, built by one of the top Umbrella execs. I figure getting permission to check it out wouldn't cause too much of a fuss. It's abandoned, and the killers could be using it as a hideout."

There was a pause, then Wesker raised an eyebrow and gave a slight nod. "Still a longshot, but maybe it's just enough. I'll have to run it past Irons first, but I think I can twist his arm. He owes me a favor or two."

Jill was a little surprised Wesker had actually gone for it, but she wasn't going to argue. "Captain, you want us to start-"

"What? You're breaking up." It was Brad, the radio headset pressed up against one ear. He fidgeted with a dial, but from the look on his face, it didn't do a whole lot of good. "Bravo Team? Come in, Bravo Team." He stared with squinted eyes at the dial. "Shit. Lost them."

"You catch any of the message?" asked Wesker, rising from his desk.

"Not really. Didn't get their grid. But Rick sounded pretty frantic."

Rick Aiken was Bravo's communications expert, and generally an easygoing guy. If he was freaking out, something was seriously wrong.

"Keep trying to raise them." Jill could hear the strain in his voice. Wesker knew it was bad too. He snatched up the phone from his desk and punched a couple buttons. "Yes. This is Wesker. Tell Irons I'm on my way to his office. We may have an emergency." Wesker slammed the phone down and half-jogged to the door. "Get your gear together and get it to the helipad. Frost, get the helicopter ready, I want to be ready to fly ten minutes ago. Move!"

Jill was up from her seat in a flash, taking the lead down to the armory, Chris and Barry trailing close behind. Their boots thudded down two flights of stairs and into the station's basement. In a moment the lockers were open, and the trio began throwing gear into duffel bags. Barry grabbed his Kevlar vest and tightened it around his massive frame, throwing Chris and Jill theirs. She pulled the bulky vest over her shoulders, zipping it at the front and double-checking the side straps. The damned thing was going to be ridiculously warm, even though they were only wearing short-sleeve shirts beneath them. Jill could already feel it beginning to stifle her. Barry started back up with a duffel full of ammunition and a pair of shotguns.

They worked in silence for a moment as Chris affixed his combat knife to his belt. She thought it was a silly, old holdover from his Special Forces days, but he claimed over and over again it would come in handy eventually. But soon her curiosity got too much. "How did you come up with Umbrella?"

"Long story."

"I'm all ears."

He looked up from the radios he was checking. "Not that kind of long story. There may be more to it than I said upstairs, but it's not something I want to discuss. Just trust me. I'll tell you when we get back."

"Fine, but don't think I won't hold you to that."

Barry came back, and they carried the remaining gear up. Joe was waiting in the troop hold of the old UH-1 and helped them get everything fastened down. The downdraft from the main rotor rustled their hair and tugged at any loose clothing. Joe gave her a hand up into the helicopter.

"Where's Wesker?" she called over the roaring engine.

Joe shrugged. "I dunno! Haven't seen him since he went to talk to Irons!"

As if on cue, the STARS captain stormed onto the helipad, not even bothering to hide the frustration on his face. "Shut it down!" he ordered Joe.

"What!?"

"Shut it down! We aren't going anywhere!"

Joe reached into the cockpit and shut down the engine before turning around and demanding, "What in the hell are you talking about?"

"Irons won't let us check it out unless we get a confirmation that they need help or they miss their deadline."

"That's two hours from now. Their comms could be toast for all we know," reminded Chris.

Wesker took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. "I know. Trust me, I'm just as pissed. Brad's still on the radio. Nothing yet."

Joe leapt down to the concrete. "I ought to give Irons a piece of my mind."

"Frost! You will do nothing of the sort," the captain ordered. "I don't want any of you to talk to Irons without my express permission. I'm still trying to talk some sense into him, and I don't want you or Redfield's hot-headedness getting in my way."

"Then what _can _we do?"

"Wait. Quietly. Preferably somewhere close, and I want everyone ready to move on a moment's notice."


End file.
